


Irritation

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, Shipwrecks, Vaginal Fingering, mentioned Aveline/Wesley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 13:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17509205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: Aveline and Isabela are marooned on an island. Sunburns and squabbles ensue.





	Irritation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/gifts).



> Many thanks to [sweettasteofbitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweettasteofbitter) for beta'ing. :)

Aveline tried to yell, but her cries were swallowed by the storm. Water flooded her mouth and nose as she flailed, struggling to swim but only sinking faster. The salt water stung her eyes and bubbles clouded her vision—

Something grabbed her under the arms.

Aveline fought, unsure who or what had seized her. Her elbow smashed into something and whatever it was pinched her ear, so she turned to look—and it was Isabela, hair around her face in dark halo and mouth in a fierce line.

Aveline ceased fighting, and Isabela hoisted Aveline by the armpits.

It was still a struggle, Aveline’s own weight and that of her sword and shield against the strength of Isabela’s rescue. Aveline’s chest was burning, burning, visions in stars and bursts as Isabela finally yanked Aveline’s weapons off, sending them tumbling into the depths.

The two women broke the surface. Aveline wheezed, swallowing as much water as air while clinging to Isabela.

“Stay still! Float!” Isabela shouted, though the water garbled her words.

“If I knew how to float, I wouldn’t—” Aveline started, but a salt-wracked sputter overtook her.

Isabela rolled her eyes, twisting a hand into the back of Aveline’s shirt and dragging her to shore.

Aveline couldn’t stand, even when her feet _could_ touch the bottom, but she and Isabela crawled and swam and hacked their way onto the beach. The sand stuck to Aveline’s palms and knees as she coughed up every bit of saltwater in her lungs. Then she vomited for good measure.

When Aveline was finally done, she rolled onto her side. She groaned, “It was supposed to be a three hour tour…”

“It wasn’t a tour. It was a booze cruise,” Isabela corrected her.

“Why did I think getting on a _boat_ was a good idea?”

“Because it was better than listening to Hawke and Bethany do that stupid voice,” Isabela said with manic cheer. As if being knocked overboard and stranded on an island was still better than listening to that stupid voice.

Aveline shuddered.

‘That stupid voice’ was a result of Hawke and Bethany’s latest magical collaboration. Aveline couldn’t begrudge them a chance to catch up, especially after that entire mess at Château Haine. But now that Bethany had learned force magic, Hawke was constantly looking for new and inane ways to use it. Bethany had been entirely too willing to cooperate, and they had come up with a magically-amplified voice that rattled windows, doors, and the dregs of Aveline’s patience.

Isabela rolled her eyes and threw a rude gesture at the sky. “What _I_ want to know is how a storm came up on us! There weren’t any warnings…”

“The captain said there’s an old mage tower around here—”

“Did she?”

“You were busy getting drunk.”

Isabela shrugged, which did interesting things to her bosom. Aveline studiously looked away; Isabela’s wet shirt was even clingier than usual, dark nipples just-visible through the fabric. And Aveline wasn’t looking, dammit. “Booze cruise.”

“Anyways. She said there is unusual weather around here.” Aveline shaded her hand over her eyes, squinting at the horizon. The water was beautiful—now that she wasn’t drowning in it, at least—with a sparkle that was absolutely lacking at the Kirkwall harbor. The sky was a perfect matching blue, sky and sea in mirrored harmony, and the air was fresh and sweet. There was absolutely no sign of the fierce storm that had knocked Aveline overboard.

Aveline immediately distrusted it.

“Explains why it feels like the tropics,” Isabela mused. She gave Aveline a sideways glance, grinning. “I can think of worse places to be stranded. They’ll send a boat out for us before long.”

“How long is ‘long’?”

“Same day. Possibly days,” Isabela said breezily. “Depends on how long it takes them to notice that we’re gone.”

Aveline groaned.

Isabela waggled her eyebrows. “We might as well get comfy.”

“I’d feel more comfortable in my armor,” Aveline muttered.

Isabela shuddered. “I’d have _never_ been able to drag you out, then.”

Two beats, and Aveline caught her breath. The sun prickled the back of her neck, and belatedly, Aveline said, “Thank you for saving me.”

Isabela laughed, so smooth and easy that Aveline was ashamed of her own delay. “You’re welcome.”

Feeling conspicuously naked without her weapons, Aveline rose to her feet and surveyed the island. It was a storybook picture of tropical paradise, from the dazzling white sand beach to the lush green foliage. Brightly-colored birds winked through the vegetation, occasionally calling one another with raucous caws and trills.

“Do you still have your daggers?” Aveline asked.

Isabela rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

Aveline trudged through the bushes, digging around until she found a long stick. She gave it a few experimental jabs, then marched back to Isabela—but floundered as the treacherous sand shifted beneath her feet, nearly falling on her ass. Isabela burst into laughter, which did nothing to improve Aveline’s mood.

“Knife, please.”

“And what are you doing with that?” Isabela asked, even as she passed one over.

“Making a spear.”

“And you’re choosing to make it in the middle of the blazing sun because...?”

Aveline suppressed a groan. “We should stay near the shore in case a boat comes by.”

Isabela considered it. “No sense in heatstroke, though. I’ll start a smoke signal.”

Aveline and Isabela made their way to a copse of trees, where the light filtered through the canopy in slats and ribbons. Aveline sat on a large rock, shaving her stick to a sharp point while Isabela gathered sticks and twigs. As they lacked matches—assuming that any matches wouldn’t have gotten waterlogged anyway—Isabela removed her necklace and used one of the brass disks to focus a ray of light onto the tinder.

“I’ve never seen that trick without a mirror,” Aveline commented.

Isabela didn’t bother looking up, instead leaning to blow gently on the tiny plume of smoke that had formed. “Nothing beats flint and steel. Or a mage. But a girl’s got to have some tricks.”

“What about rubbing a stick between your hands?”

Isabela snickered, now looking up to give Aveline the full force of her grin. “Well, you might start some _other_ sorts of fires—” she drawled, rubbing her palms together with a twisting motion that was suddenly incredibly _vulgar_ , “—but it’s a pain in the ass. Give it a try, if you don’t believe me.”

Aveline snorted, then grimaced as her clothing squelched. Her mother had always said she’d catch her death in wet clothes.

“I’ll believe you,” Aveline said, shifting uncomfortably.

“Want out of your wet things? I promise I won’t look.”

Aveline sighed, handing Isabela’s knife back to her. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, I’m sure.”

Isabela made a good-natured noise and stuck out her tongue.

Aveline leaned her spear against the tree, then stripped out of her wet clothing. She fought the urge to turn away from Isabela as she did so; if she flustered, that meant Isabela won. Aveline laid her clothes on a flat rock in the sun, the arms of her shirt neatly spread, the trousers just below. The legs dangled to the sandy dirt, but Aveline and her clothing were already so filthy that it barely mattered. She stayed in her smallclothes, but took off her wet boots and socks, drying the leather as best she could by awkwardly brushing them with her own damp hands.

Isabela undid her corset, fumbling at the stiff lacing, but left her shirt on. Aveline didn’t know whether Isabela wore smalls, but it was the first time that Isabela was more covered than Aveline. However, Isabela’s boots were more trouble. Isabela scraped at the wet knots, struggling with the eyelets.

Aveline watched, biting her tongue, then finally knelt in front of Isabela. She swatted Isabela’s hands aside, then undid the boots with a few precise tugs. “I’m surprised you’re not better at getting out of wet clothing.”

Isabela laughed. “It’s fun to keep the boots on, big girl.”

Aveline shuddered. “But what about the sheets?”

“Have you _really_ only done it in a bed?” Isabela asked, finally getting her leg free with a damp sucking noise. Her thigh lifted, and Aveline hastily averted her eyes—but not before realizing that no, Isabela did _not_ wear smalls.

Trying not to stammer, Aveline said, “Hard ground hurts my ass. I don’t know about _yours_ , but—”

“But the wild night of passion! Sweaty with the morning dew, leaves in your hair—”

“And sand in your ass.”

Isabela blew a raspberry. “You need to pick your ground, sweet thing. Or put a blanket down.”

“And you carry a blanket just in case of emergencies?”

“Well...passion can still be _planned_.”

“When was the last time _you_ ever planned anything?” Aveline asked. She meant it to be snarky, some semblance of normalcy, but it just came out as tired.

Isabela patted Aveline’s shoulder. “I planned to get away from Hawke and Bethany’s stupid voice trick! And it _worked_. Even if we fell overboard!”

Aveline snorted and took the heel of Isabela’s other boot, and they repeated the process. Aveline set the boots aside as Isabela wiggled her toes in satisfaction.

“We should build a shelter, in case we’re here overnight,” said Aveline.

“ _You_ can build the shelter. I’ll get us some food.”

Aveline sighed. “Give me a knife, then.”

She set to work constructing a simple lean-to as Isabela rustled around the trees. Isabela was using the bottom of her shirt as an impromptu basket for carrying some sort of red-orange fruit, which made all of Aveline’s bashfulness about Isabela’s lack of smalls now seem shamefully quaint. Aveline carefully avoided looking at Isabela’s bare ass, instead focusing her efforts on gathering sticks and brush. She also took a palm frond, breaking a leaf and rubbing it on the back of her hand—the first time she had made camp with Wesley, he had used something that turned out to give him a rash, and she had to rebuild the whole thing while he itched miserably and washed himself clean. It had been frustrating at the time, but they laughed about it after.

 _Had_ laughed about it.

Aveline hadn’t been able to laugh at that story in years.

When she had no itching, burning, or other sort of reaction to the leaf, she used more to line the bottom of their shelter. Some of the vines made decent, albeit sap-sticky, ropes as she set up her support poles and bound more sticks to the ridgepole, forming a lattice that she covered with more fronds.

By the time Isabela came back with more fruit, Aveline was sweaty, hungry, and calmer than she had been.

“What are those?” Aveline asked, peering at Isabela’s offerings.

“Coconuts,” Isabela said, holding up a round, hard-skinned green fruit. ‘Mango’ turned out to be the red-orange fruits that Aveline had seen her gathering earlier, and ‘papaya’ was a mottled yellow and looked vaguely like a melon. Isabela taught Aveline how to hack open the top of the coconuts to get the juice inside, which was sweet and clear. The papaya was sweet and strangely musky, with bright orange flesh.

“I swear, I once knew a girl who tasted _exactly_ like—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Isabela cackled.

Aveline’s favorite turned out to be the mangos, which Isabela had to teach her how to slice away from the pit, then to cut the flesh into diamonds that stuck out, hedgehog-like, when they flipped the skins around in their hands. The juice dripped down Aveline’s chin with sticky sweetness, and they both had to go rinse themselves in the ocean.

Isabela fed the fire as Aveline got dressed. By now, the sun was dropping and the sky was layered in colors and light. They spent their first night in the lean-to huddled together for warmth. Isabela’s elbows jabbed Aveline’s belly, and Aveline accidentally kneed Isabela in her non-existent smalls, but they eventually found themselves spooned together with Isabela’s head tucked under Aveline’s chin.

They slept peacefully, too exhausted to feud.

. . .

The next day, their gratitude for being alive quickly faded to petty irritations. Aveline sunburned crisp and red, and she had a perpetual squint from the sun glaring off the sand and water. Isabela scaled more of the coconut trees, but their long trunks had few branches, meaning she had to climb with a sort of wriggling, full-body embrace that earned her chafed thighs and bloody scrapes.

They had never been alone with Hawke or Merrill to buffer them, and by the end of the day Aveline’s entire body was one frayed nerve.

“Andraste’s tits, your face is redder than your hair,” Isabela muttered, breaking open a coconut.

“And your—” Aveline bit her tongue, unsure of how to finish that sentence. She had never been quick with her words, only her temper. “And your legs could use some pants.”

“Next time, _you_ climb.”

“I can’t!”

Isabela groaned. “You can’t climb, you don’t know how to swim, and you burn like toast. You’re _useless._ ”

“I am _sorry_ to be such a bother,” Aveline bit out. “I suppose you would rather be here with Hawke. It would be all laughs and fruity little rum drinks, wouldn’t it? I am _sorry_ I am such a—”

“You wouldn’t know sorry if it bit you in the—”

“At least _mine_ is covered.”

“So this is it then? We should have it out, right here? Fists and knives and hair-pulling?” Isabela challenged.

Aveline glared at her, resentment boiling under her tongue. “Is that what you want? Some cheap catfight?”

“Oh no, not cheap. I’d sell _tickets_.”

Aveline’s breath hissed between her teeth. This was absurd, this was beyond absurd, and Aveline knew she could respond in kind and it would escalate to an avalanche of bad feelings and bruised ego, but here they were with only each other and Aveline could not see the sense in wounded pride.

So she let the anger scald her throat and swallowed it down, focusing on the shadows in Isabela’s eyes, the wild blow of her hair, the way the sun caught on all of Isabela’s glittering jewelry and the way that Isabela smelled of sun and sea and coconut, here in this tropical paradise that they could so easily turn into just another hellhole.

“If we had tickets to sell, we could just _buy_ our way off this damn island,” Aveline said. It was graceless and lacking as an apology, but Aveline felt rather graceless and lacking herself.

Isabela’s eyes narrowed, searching for the jab. When she found none, she forced herself into a choked laugh. She leaned sideways and raised her hand as if to slap Aveline’s shoulder, but stopped with her hand hovering inches over the peeling skin. “We could buy you some aloe, too.”

“Couldn’t we find some here?”

“Maybe. Or we could try coconut oil. Tell you what—you feed the fire, I’ll see what I can do with this.”

As a peace offering, it was better than Aveline’s joke. Aveline nodded and laid more branches on the small fire, fanning it briefly to watch the smoke climb. Isabela was using the pommel of her dagger to mash the coconut meat to a moist paste, and Aveline watched dubiously as Isabela rolled a glob of it onto her hand.

“And this is supposed to help?”

“Coconut oil is an old Rivaini secret,” Isabela said firmly. “Good for the hair and skin. Tastes good too.”

Aveline offered her arm, submitting to Isabela’s touch. Aveline winced at the first touch of paste on her scorched skin, but it was cool and soothing as Isabela smoothed it in a thin layer.

“Of course, the merchants would strain it, but we’re stranded on an island. We’ll just do the best we can,” Isabela added cheerfully.

Aveline sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“I meant for earlier. I’m sorry about your legs.”

“And I’m sorry for calling you useless. Let’s not get all maudlin about it now. Or—” Isabela’s eyes sparkled as she leaned forward. “I could teach you to swim, how about that?”

“And you won’t drown me?”

“Seer’s honor,” Isabela said, holding up her hand. “I promise, it’s more than wet frocks and clinging shirts.”

So Aveline allowed herself to be led to the water, to a curved section of the beach where the rocks formed a natural break and the waves could not crash with full force. They both stripped—Aveline to her smalls, Isabela to glorious, shameless nudity and forcing Aveline to keep her gaze fixed straight ahead and above Isabela’s shoulder, away from every bounce and jiggle. Aveline stuck her spear into the sand as Isabela walked backwards into the surf, beckoning. Aveline took Isabela’s hands and entered the ocean, step by hesitant step.

The water felt lovely against her feet, the soft waves tickling against her ankles, the sand soft and giving. Then it started lapping at her knees, cold creeping up her thighs and then—with a shiver—over her hips and waist. Walking was difficult now, struggling against the weight of the water, and her body swayed with the ebb and flow of the tide. The panic rose in Aveline’s throat like asphyxiation, aspiration, the memory of salt and drowning, but Isabela’s hands tethered her to the present. Isabela was saying something soothing, wordless nonsense like one might use to gentle a horse, and Aveline would normally resent that sort of thing but with her heart pounding in her ears she was grateful for this small bit of comfort. She kept forcing herself to follow, to obey Isabela’s incessant tugging, and walked until the water rose to her chest before digging her heels in uncertain ground.

“Dunk your head.”

Aveline blinked. “What?”

“You can’t be afraid of the water. Respect the sea, but don’t be afraid.” Isabela took a breath and dunked herself, dark hair swirling about her shoulders.

Aveline stood, rigid, arms outstretched and Isabela dangling, until Isabela popped up again.

“Come on, big girl. Water’s fine.” Isabela grinned, dripping and exuberant, before ducking so she was up to her nose in the water. She blew a stream of bubbles.

Aveline tried very hard not to think about all the time that Isabela had played pranks on their _other_ friends as Isabela held her hands, smiling, and Aveline took a deep breath and let herself drop to her knees in the waves, let the water crash over her head and flood her ears and seep up her nostrils and then she rose, sputtering, lips wet with salt and fear and the fierce, sudden exaltation that she _did_ it, she has _done_ it, and then Aveline let the wave lift her. Her feet left the sand, pushed behind her, and Isabela laughed bright and raucous as a gull before shouting, “Kick, kick!”

Aveline started with a weak flutter of her feet as Isabela bounced backwards, still holding Aveline’s hands and towing her along.

“More than that! Thighs and ass, big girl! You’ve got arms, but if you’re going to swim, you need to _kick_!”

There was water in her mouth, but Aveline spat it out and started kicking, splashing water behind her as Isabela tugged her through the waves.

And like that, it stopped being terrifying.

Isabela taught Aveline to paddle with her arms, to roll to her side. Isabela taught her to _float_ , and there was something strange and soothing in that buoyancy. Isabela claimed that floating was the easiest thing in the world, it was just letting the water do the work—and maybe it was, for her.

Aveline had taught herself patience over the years, to bite her tongue and tally her grievances and bide her time, but she had never learned to be _still_.

Isabela was never patient, silent, or still, but she floated. No matter the storm, Isabela survived.

When they finally emerged from the water, the sun was setting glittering points of light across the distant ocean, sparkling brighter than the first early stars.

They drank more young coconut juice and ate mangoes and papaya, then as Aveline started mashing coconut pulp to make the paste for her sunburns, she asked, “Where did you learn to swim?”

“From pearl-divers,” Isabela said, finger-combing her damp hair. It appeared to have grown in the water, but was now drying into flyaway curls.

Aveline snorted.

“No, not like _that_.” Isabela tapped her chin, then smirked. “Well, _later_ like that. But there are villages along the Rivaini coast where the women dive for pearls. They wear pouches full of rocks and have little nose clamps and carry knives and are very fierce about the whole thing. Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Just women?”

“For the fat, big girl.” Isabela jiggled her bosom, grinning. “Keeps you warm in cold waters. Keeps you warm in other places, too.”

“And where do the pearls come from?” Aveline asked in a blustery rush, quick to change topics.

“Oysters, don’t you know?”

“But I mean—how do the pearls get _in_ the oysters? I know they’re not bones.”

Isabela’s laughter shook her charms and bangles. “It’s a kind of irritation, they say. Little piece of sand or dirt gets in, and the oyster can’t push it out. So the oyster puts on lots of little shiny layers to round out its edges. Like a very fancy pebble in your shoe.”

“ _You_ are like a pebble in my shoe,” Aveline muttered. It wasn’t much of a retort, but it felt better than the devastating intimacy of gratitude.

Isabela stuck out her tongue and kicked sand at Aveline.

When they finally went to sleep in their lean-to, Isabela immediately curled with her back to Aveline’s front, snoring gently. Aveline’s legs fit comfortably behind Isabela’s, but she couldn’t figure out what to do with her arms so she draped one across Isabela’s hip. She fell asleep warmed by Isabela’s presence, breathing in smells of coconut and mango and the perpetual tang of the ocean.

. . .

After another breakfast of ripe fruit—beautiful, ripe, exotic fruit that would have cost a _fortune_ back in Kirkwall—Aveline only craved eggs, bread, and the lumpy comfort of oatmeal. She even started eyeing the birds in all their colored plumage, because birds laid eggs and if she could find a nest—

She came back to her senses and sighed, taking another bite of mango. The juice dripped down her chin and onto her much-stained shirt.

They had a routine now, if two days was enough to establish a routine. Aveline stoked the fire as Isabela scavenged for food, and then there were swimming lessons. They drifted out together, Isabela and Aveline on their backs and holding on to each other by the tips of their fingers. The waves became an endless embrace, rocking them.

“See? Anyone can float. Even a battering ram like you,” said Isabela.

Aveline rolled her eyes, not that Isabela could see it. She squeezed the other woman’s hand, allowed her thumb to stroke the other woman’s wrist. For all of Isabela’s ample padding, there was muscle underneath. Isabela might never beat Aveline at arm-wrestling, but Aveline would never beat Isabela in a swim-race.

It was strangely peaceful on her back, with the sun on her face. The salt water stung her skin, with her many cuts and scrapes and sunburn, but she thought it must be worse for Isabela after all her tree-climbing.

“How do you think Varric will tell this story?” Aveline asked.

Isabela chuckled. “He’ll say something about pirate treasure. ‘X’ marks the spot.” She splashed the water, crossing her breasts—no, Aveline corrected herself—crossing her heart.

Aveline raised a hand, dripping water as she crossed her heart as well.

They were close now, closer than they have ever been. Their hips bumped, bodies floating in the same rhythm. They were close enough for a kiss, if Aveline dared.

But Aveline did not.

The moment passed, another wave pushing them apart, and Aveline was left blinking foolishly to herself. Island or not, some things were immutable. The sky was blue, water was wet, and Isabela was insufferable. A friend, yes, but an insufferable one. An important fact that Aveline could not forget. _Would_ not forget.

Aveline picked up her spear and stretched, arms overhead. Eyes shut and luxuriating in the lengthening of her spine, the fresh breeze chilling her still-wet body, pointedly not looking at Isabela’s soft belly or generous thighs or—

“Look, fish!” Isabela called.

Aveline’s eyes snapped open, mouth watering as she lunged forward. The fish scattered, silver-finned and flashing, but Aveline speared one. She held it aloft with fierce pride, chest swelling and eyes gleaming and in her moment of joy she could only yell,

“ _Finally_ , something that’s not fruit!”

Isabela flapped her mouth. Open, shut. Somewhat like the fish. Only the whites of her eyes to speak her stunned silence.

Eventually, she recovered her voice. If only to argue with Aveline.

With only one fish, they didn’t want to waste it—but Aveline had never fished before and apparently all of Isabela’s knowledge involved already having access to a pan, grill, or pot, so they squabbled back and forth, back and forth, endless arguments of theory and experience before Aveline managed to make a woven grill of sticks and Isabela scaled and deboned the fish. The daggers made terrible spatulas, but Isabela managed to flip the fish anyway. Here, too, they clashed—Aveline refused to risk eating raw fish, because that was how people got _parasites_ and noxious bowels, but Isabela slapped her thighs and swore that the worst danger with fresh fish was overcooking it, and quite frankly Aveline was having trouble tracking the conversation because the fish smelled so _good_ —

Finally, after longer than Isabela would have liked and not as long as Aveline would have, they tested a piece. The edges were charred, but the flesh was white and flaky, so they pulled it off the grill and devoured it with their fingers, frantically blowing and sucking air through their mouths.

“Okay, okay, _maybe_ you were right it needed that extra time,” Isabela mumbled around her mouthful, a morsel of white fish stuck between her teeth. She spat out a bone.

“And _maybe_ you were right that I would have burned it,” Aveline allowed, ripping into another chunk.

Isabela grinned at her, lips wet and shiny, and Aveline found herself overcome with a sudden longing, the warmth and satiety and camaraderie all catching up as she said—

“Isabela.”

“What?”

Aveline bit her tongue, unsure of how to finish that sentence without being mocked. Isabela may erode her every nerve, and yet—

“I love you, you tart. If I had to be stuck here with anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re full of fish,” Isabela said good-naturedly, cuffing her under the chin.

Aveline could count each and every one of Isabela’s eyelashes, the baby-wisps of hair curling around the edges of her scalp, the sparks from the fire reflected and glittering in Isabela’s eyes. She could count the years lining Isabela’s mouth and the downy hairs on her chin and taste the way her lips curled full and sweet and riper than papaya—

This time, Aveline kissed her.

It was clumsy, but no more than any other first kiss. Isabela stiffened, and Aveline pulled back, worried that she had misread her cues, but Isabela gave a half-breath of laughter and wound her hand into Aveline’s hair, pulling them together once more. Her lips were warm beneath Aveline’s, her mouth wet and her tongue-stud clicking against Aveline’s teeth before Aveline relaxed, mouth to mouth and breathing.

It had been years since Aveline kissed anyone, but some things are never truly lost. Tilt head like so, go gentle with the lips. More lips than tongue, with one hand on the back of Isabela’s neck. Slow.

“If I knew fish got you horny, I would have—” Isabela started, chuckling, and every word brushed Aveline’s lips before Aveline crushed her laughter with another kiss.

Isabela sucked Aveline’s lower lip, and oh, but _that_ was nice, made even nicer as Isabela slid a hand down Aveline’s ribs, fingers curled like she might climb inside her, on her, over her, some topsy-turvy loss of direction as Aveline leaned forward and Isabela tilted back, and they were rolling on the bare ground, dirt and pebbles sticking to their skin and Aveline had one bare moment of sense to spread her shirt down and lay Isabela on it.

“See? Passion _can_ be planned,” Isabela teased, constellations in her eyes.

“As if you planned this!”

“Well, _you_ certainly didn’t!”

Aveline snorted, and stayed hovered over Isabela, forearms braced around Isabela’s shoulders. She paused, admiring the way Isabela’s hair fanned out against the once-white surface of Aveline’s shirt, the wet shine of her mouth and the laughter-lines crinkling the edges of her eyes and the thousand and one ways that Aveline can remember her, just like this, laughing and smiling and—

“Is this too much?” Aveline asked, suddenly unsure. Isabela was always physical, draped across Hawke’s shoulders or tugging Merrill’s arm, but she never had that same rapport with Aveline. Which was equal parts shame and inevitable, given their friction. “I mean, you never—I never—”

“Is this your first time with a woman, big girl?”

“No. But I don’t want to push you, if you aren’t comfortable.”

Isabela’s head rolled back, shoulders heaving as she gasped with laughter. “Andraste’s tits, look at you trying to be noble. I was kissing you _back_ , you great lump.” Grinning, she added, “We can go back to each other’s throats later. What happens on the island stays on the island, right?”

Which wasn’t what Aveline was worried about, but the thing about Isabela was—she was _simple_. Which was not the same as _easy_ , despite all the jokes. Isabela was the shortest line between two points, regardless of whatever paltry things like laws or public decency were in the way. Aveline could detour and obfuscate but if she wanted this, and Isabela wanted it too, then it was simpler to melt into Isabela’s mouth, to kiss her back as Isabela twisted a hand into Aveline’s hair and tugged her close.

Aveline kissed her way down Isabela’s body, nuzzling the curve of her neck and flicking a tongue to the hollow of her throat, mouth slipping between soft skin and the hard curves and angles of Isabela’s jewelry. Isabela was metal and salt and warm flesh, so warm that Aveline imagined herself enveloped in it, all the billows of flesh and fat over the twitch of muscle as she rucked Isabela’s shirt over the swell of her belly. Aveline worked with stubborn thoroughness—she had never been accused of passion, perhaps, but she knew how she liked to be touched, and if Isabela liked it much the same—

“Oh fuck. Oh _fuck_. Do that thing with your mouth again. Harder. Use teeth,” Isabela groaned.

Aveline normally complained about Isabela being mouthy, but it took out the guesswork. Isabela directed Aveline to kiss the insides of her thighs, licking and biting and sucking to leave tiny rosettes against the dark of Isabela’s skin, wine-colored bruises that blurred into one another as Aveline kissed, touched, repeated. Aveline dared to vary it a little, adding tiny puffs of cool air from her pursed mouth and wedging a shoulder against Isabela’s thigh, prying Isabela’s legs apart even as Isabela was doing her damnedest to clamp them about Aveline’s head. One of Isabela’s knees was hooked over Aveline’s shoulder, the heel drumming Aveline’s back, and Isabela was moaning and swearing loud enough to make the birds take flight, and Aveline hadn’t even gotten to her clit—

“Fuck, fuck. I want your mouth on me. Want your fingers in me,” Isabela hissed, and she tugged Aveline’s hair, drew Aveline’s gaze up as Isabela mimed two curled fingers in a gliding stroke.

Aveline raised a hand and licked two fingers, then sucked down to the knuckles. There was grit and dirt against her teeth, but better a little dirt now than in Isabela. There was some small, squeamish part of her that whispered that this would be better on a bed, in a room, in a place that had four walls and a ceiling and a _wash_ , but.

Isabela was chasing the moment, and Aveline wasn’t going to be left behind.

So Aveline swallowed down the grit and washed her fingers in her mouth, licked them clean and smooth before sliding them into Isabela. Isabela squeezed around her, wet and writhing, and Aveline smushed her nose into Isabela’s pubic hair as she licked her way down the wet folds of Isabela’s cunt, then used broad strokes of her tongue, trying to go slow and steady even as her fingers thrusted—

Isabela fought, of course. She groaned and screamed and cursed, rocked her hips and locked her legs and clawed Aveline’s sunburned shoulders with vicious, unthinking response. Aveline had to bear down with her torso, using her weight as much as her strength to keep Isabela pinned in place, to keep Isabela from writhing free because even when she _wanted_ it, when Isabela was crying out “close, close, oh fuck, oh god, oh yes,” she was always on the verge of escape.

So when Isabela finally came—back arched, feet flexed, entire form in full-body quake that would have rattled every piece of furniture in Aveline’s home—it was obvious, because she immediately collapsed in a boneless heap of sweat-damp flesh and sticky thighs. She lacked even the energy to unwrap herself from Aveline, so Aveline had to disentangle from Isabela’s legs and curl beside her to ask,

“How are you feeling?”

Isabela’s answer was a mumbled sigh.

Aveline chuckled and kissed her nose. “What about my turn?”

“Greedy git. Let me feel my _legs_ first.”

“Lazy woman.”

Isabela raised both middle fingers, so Aveline started tickling her, and then—well, it turned out that Isabela wasn’t _quite_ as exhausted as she thought.

. . .

After—after Isabela caught her breath and bowled Aveline over, ass over heels, after Isabela pinned her down and mashed her with kisses and they licked and sucked and Aveline ground her way to orgasm against the solid bulk of Isabela’s thigh—they curled together in the shadowed privacy of their lean-to, nose-to-nose and knees overlapping. Close enough to breathe the words from each other’s mouths.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything, big girl. What happens on the island stays on the island.”

“That doesn’t mean it means _nothing_.”

“It’s just friction. Sparks and bad temper are all part of it. You get enough sparks, and then…” Isabela rocked her leg forward, gliding up Aveline’s thighs.

Aveline squeezed her knees together, locking Isabela’s leg. “Or maybe it’s irritation. Like those pearls you talked about.”

“If you’re leading up to a pearl-polishing joke, I swear—”

“I mean—it’s irritation. But we build ourselves around it. Perhaps making something precious along the way.”

Isabela sighed, tilting forward so her forehead touched Aveline’s. “You’re overthinking this. I’m not the marrying kind. I don’t want the full house with four children and solstice dinners and frilly lace aprons and all the dreadfully dull domestic things that _you_ want.”

“Maybe I’ll marry. Maybe I won’t. But if you ever need a place, my door’s always open.”

“Save me from goody two-shoes and morally upright citizens,” Isabela muttered, but she kissed Aveline anyway. “Go to sleep. You’ll think clearer in the morning.”

. . .

Aveline didn’t feel any clearer in the morning, but neither did she feel any worse. She woke with Isabela’s hair in her mouth and Isabela drooling in the curve of her shoulder. Aveline carefully lifted Isabela’s head, just enough to slide her own arm free, and attempted to untangle the rest of their limbs with equal caution. Isabela gave a startled snort, ripe with morning-breath, and let out an enormous yawn as she sat up, her head colliding with Aveline’s jaw and knocking them both back down with mutual swearing.

“Fuck! You alright?”

“Had worse,” Aveline mumbled, rubbing her chin. “You?”

“Had worse, but still hurts like a sonofa _bitch_.”

They both sat up, this time managing to wriggle their way out of the lean-to without further injury.

Aveline chewed the inside of her cheek as she cracked open a coconut. Carefully, she asked, “Do you think you would like to do that again?”

“What? Bang heads? No thank you,” Isabela said quickly, too quickly to be anything but deflection as she sliced into a mango. She chewed the slippery pit, sucking noisily.

“I’m trying to be serious, Isabela.”

“And I’m trying to be _not_.”

“Look, I’ll—I’m sorry, I’ll drop it after this. One last time. Please.”

Isabela nodded, but said nothing.

“I just want you to know that it doesn’t have to be _just_ on the island. I like you. I know that you are a thief and a liar and I shouldn’t trust you near vast sums of gold that don’t belong to you—”

Isabela laughed, one hand over her mouth, and Aveline took that as encouragement to keep going.

“—and aren’t remotely interested in children and marriage and the lace apron or whatever, and that’s _fine_.”

“Take a breath, woman!”

Aveline took a deep breath, not bothering to hide her smile. Maker, her cheeks were hot—she was probably brick-red, between the blush and the sunburn, but she continued anyway. “And if we never have sex again, that’s perfectly fine. But I don’t want you to think that I only want you when no-one else is around.”

Isabela tossed the mango pit over her shoulder, where it bounced off a tree and into a bush. “You really are a goody two-shoes, aren’t you? All worried about my feelings and such.” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, big girl. I _cuddled_. I don’t _cuddle_ people I don’t like.”

“So we’re two friends fucking?”

“Don’t see how that’s any less than any other kind of fucking. Better than most, even.”

Aveline tasted that one. Let it sit on her tongue, roll around her mouth. It wasn’t the sort of pastel sweetness that she associated with romance, or the rich warmth of her married life with Wesley, but that didn’t meant it was any less, either.

“Better than most,” she echoed. “I can be happy with that.”

“ _Aveline! Isabela!”_

Both of them jumped, searching for the source of the immense voice.

“ _Aveline! Isabela! Andraste’s tits but I’m going hoarse here!”_ came the booming voice of Hawke, and Aveline scrambled into her clothes even as Isabela ran towards the beach, one arm under her breasts to control their bounce.

Aveline had her pants on now, and lurched towards the shore, catching up with Isabela and waving wildly at the approaching ship.

“I will never, _ever_ complain about that stupid voice trick again!” Isabela yelled.

“We’ll be sick of it in another three days,” Aveline muttered. She tried to be stern, but was unable to restrain her grin. Laughing, she swept Isabela into her arms, spinning so Isabela’s legs flew out as they waited for the rescue boats.


End file.
